


Eyes on the Prize

by PennyYearling



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Thieves Guild, With a dash of Main Quest, not quite love at first sight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyYearling/pseuds/PennyYearling
Summary: (A fanfiction for the Please Vote In 2020 Raffle winner, posted here with her permission. I promised 20k but I am very wordy.)A run-in with a bear sets one particularly fiery Dragonborn down the path of larceny, conspiracy, and if she's lucky, a little bit of romance.
Relationships: Brynjolf/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn
Kudos: 1





	1. It all starts with a bear

It was a great day. It was an absolutely fantastic day. The morning sun had already melted the frost from the night before and warmed the earth. The mountain flowers were in full bloom, their last before autumn set in, and Lesia Fire-Tongue was far ahead of schedule. If she kept a brisk pace, she would be in Riften by sundown, all while the Thalmor were chasing their own tails and putting out the (mostly figurative) fires at the Embassy. It would take weeks for them to catch wind of her again, if they would ever. And now, as if the Divines were her personal servants, a young deer was making its way to a bush mere yards away from her camp. Deerskin would sell well in Riften, and the meat would keep her during the trek back to Riverwood. She reached for her bow, readied an arrow. The deer was none the wiser. She aimed, held her breath...

And then the bear came along. Lesia always heard that arrows only make a bear angry. She also heard that even an oversized boar could climb a tree as agile as a Khajiit. She discovered firsthand that both were true, as well as a previously unknown fact about bears: if shooting an arrow at its head made it angry, Shouting at one made it furious.

It was a miracle she made it to Riften with all her limbs, let alone her weapons and her (empty) rucksack. Her campsite, including her cookware, tent, campfire set, and three weeks worth of supplies, wasn’t so lucky. None of that would be cheap to replace, but for now Lesia was just grateful that she was alive. She laughed in spite of herself. _ Being done in by a bear of all things _ , she thought.  _ Not exactly a fitting end to this story _ . She was imagining how Skyrim would deal with the Dragon crisis without a Dragonborn when the gatekeeper accosted her.

“Hold there,” he said. There was a certain script to his words, she thought. “Before you enter the city, you need to pay the city tax.”

_ Oh, pull the other one _ , she thought. “For what purpose?” Lesia said instead. She fought the urge to pat her coinpurse to ensure it was still there, opting instead to cross her arms. The guard shifted, glanced to the other at the gate. They had a conversation entirely in vague gestures and half-shrugs. “This is a shakedown, isn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

_ “Bron!” _

“I-- I mean-- No it’s not!”

Lesia frowned. If this was still a great day, she would’ve been amused, maybe even toss them a Septim for trying. Unfortunately, the day went from somewhat tolerable to outright terrible somewhere between mile three and four of being chased by an honest-to-gods bear.

“I’ll be plain,” Lesia said. “You can either let me in without having to pay this ridiculous ‘fee’, or I can force my way through and tell the Jarl of this scheme you have.” That caused Bron at the gate to squirm. And there it is. “I can be persuaded to keep this a secret. Nord’s honor.” They didn’t need to know she was only half Nord.

“Welcome to Riften,” said Bron, defeated. He unlocked the gate and gave it a push. The heavy wood gave way. “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

The sun was hanging low, but the city still saw its share of activity. Lesia ignored a sulking, burly Nord in heavy steel plate, and ignored him even more when he shouted something after her. To her right was a woman with her arms crossed and a Redguard who was clearly exasperated. Lesia caught the words "shipment" and "keep your mouth shut", and opted not to join them. She kept on through the small crowds, wary of anyone moving too close. Everyone knew that Riften was absolutely lousy with pickpockets, and while she hadn’t much left to steal, she didn’t care for any stray hands on her. So far everyone kept to themselves, wrapped up in their own troubles or concerns. She overheard a woman with a strong Nordic accent talking with a man in finery. "Dragons" and "Helgen" were on her mind. Lesia paused at the memory of the cart, the headsman's axe, the black dragon, how it looked at her dead in the eyes..

The sun hadn't yet set, but Lesia suddenly felt very cold. She cleared her throat to keep her composure.  _ Find Esbern, _ she thought, t _ hen get right out. _ It was easier said than done; she could hardly remember when she was so exhausted.

A laughing couple opened the door to an inn. The smell of cooking meat and fresh bread filled Lesia’s nostrils. Her stomach complained, loudly. Tired  _ and _ hungry, a dangerous combination even under the best of circumstances. Surely the Thalmor were still scrambling. Perhaps she could take a break, just a small one.. Lesia had one hand on the door hand and one hovering over where her coinpurse would be.

_ Would be _ . She patted her hip. Gone. Her coinpurse was gone. Her heart jumped to her throat. Was it stolen? Did a footpad get past her? No, she checked every direction, and while she got a few odd looks, no one dared get too close..

The camp. Her coins were in her pack, which was left at the mercy of an incredibly angry bear.

“Oh, no…” she groaned. And she hadn’t a thing to sell aside from her bow, and she would rather brave Oblivion than part with it. The Daedric realms may as well have opened up beneath her feet at this point.  _ How, _ she chided herself.  _ How could I have been so careless? _

“Running a little light on coin, eh lass?”

Lesia started and turned, her hand moving to her shortsword. She came to face a Nord, red haired, broad shouldered. His hands were up to his chest in a sarcastic surrender, and an easy smile lit up his face. He meant to come off as inoffensive, friendly even, but his eyes were a dead giveaway. They were sharp, knowing, and sizing her up even as he feigned friendliness.

"What do you want?" Lesia asked. Divines knew she didn't have the energy to fight, but that wouldn't stop her from trying.

“Easy there, lass,” he said. “Not here to start a fight, Divines know you’d likely win. Just asking a simple question. You seem light on coin, isn’t that right?”

“My wealth is none of your business,” said Lesia coolly. The Nord laughed.

“See, that there is all I need to hear. How about I get you a drink? You look like you need one.” He flashed her a smile that would’ve disarmed anyone else. Lesia stood her ground.

“I have a previous engagement,” she said. "Now, if you'll excuse me.."

"Lass, you got twigs in your hair--" Lesia only then became aware of a faint itch on her scalp and a leaf just outside her field of view, "-- no coinpurse, an empty quiver and an even emptier pack. What have you got to lose, save for a few minutes?"

_ A few wasted minutes could mean the apocalypse, _ Lesia thought. But would he believe her? She sighed.

"Tell you what," said Lesia. "I'm looking for someone, and rumor has it he's around Riften. You help me, then  _ after _ I speak with him, I'll see about whatever scam you have cooking in your head. But before any of this, you'll at least give me your name. Sound fair?"

The Nord winced and grinned. "Right in the heart! You drive a hard bargain, but I'll let you have this one. Name's Brynjolf, simple merchant and business owner. Now, who is this all important stranger?"

"Esbern. That's the only name I got," Lesia said. In an instant, Brynjolf’s smile was gone. "You know him, don't you?"

"You're asking the wrong man," he said simply. The feigned friendliness disappeared with his smile. "Go back to wherever you come from." He turned to walk away. Lesia sidestepped him.

"I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important," she said. Brynjolf nudged her aside.

"Lass, secrets are like gold, and I'm not keen on spilling either. Bad for business."

"Dragons razing this city is also bad for business," Lesia said sharply. She looked around and hummed thoughtfully. "Place like this would catch like kindling. All it’d take is just one breath from those overgrown lizards." That was enough to rattle him.

"He knows something, doesn't he?" asked Brynjolf. His brow furrowed as if he just saw the solution to a puzzle that was all too obvious.

"He might, and dangerous people are after him. You can help me or not. I know he's here. I can do the rest myself--"

"Wait," said Brynjolf. Lesia obliged him. "He's here, and he's paying my organization a good amount of coin to keep his name out of every conversation in Riften. You'll find him in the Ratway warrens. Just go down to the lower levels and look for the rusted gate, there's your entrance. There's a shortcut through the Ragged Flagon, just follow.. This sign." From his pocket, Brynjolf handed Lesia a folded piece of worn parchment. She peeked inside to see a diamond, with a circle in the center. "Anyone at the Ragged Flagon gives you trouble, tell them you're with me. If you run into trouble on the way, follow the sewage. Flows right out to the lake."

"Appreciated, Brynjolf," said Lesia.

"Go on, then. But I will expect to see you back, per our agreement." With that, Brynjolf gave her a friendly pat on the back and turned to the warmth of the inn. She felt a sudden weight in her pack the moment his hand left her. "Oh, and mind the vagrants. The Ratway is a dangerous place, even on a good day."

Brynjolf was gone before Lesia could say a thing or even check her quiver. She shifted the leather rucksack off her back and carefully opened the flap. She expected an unpleasant surprise, contraband or worse.

It was a loaf of bread, and an apple the size of her fists put together. Lesia heard plenty of the pickpockets in Riften, but never of anyone doing the opposite. She took a large bite out of the bread (crusty on the outside but fluffy on the inside) and devoured the apple (sweet with just enough tartness).  _ Alright, Brynjolf, _ she thought as she made her way to the Ratway,  _ you got yourself a deal. _


	2. Shout, Shout, let it all out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our incorrigible Dragonborn finds the man she's looking for, and delivers a three word pep talk.

Brynjolf was right about one thing: the Ratway was dangerous. Lesia ran into trouble the moment she walked in the way of a Nord with more brawn than brains and an Imperial who only thought he was clever. It was a fight she won, but only with luck and her shortsword. She would have to write a letter to her father soon, thanking him again for the brief sparring session before she left. Sword ready, Lesia continued on, keeping to shadow and light steps. That did well to keep the vagabonds unawares, but the skeevers in the Ratway had more than their sight to rely on. One of the wretched things bit her in the leg before her steel found its neck. Lesia walked off the pain and tried not to think of the healthy supply of potions and bandages she had in her pack. Instead, she focused on where she needed to go; the Ratway was a damned maze, and if she wasn't careful she would easily get lost.

Luck graced her again in a damp hall. On the rough-hewn stone was an etching she recognized-- a diamond shape, with a circle in the center. Below it was an arrow pointing right, and on the floor was an offering of a lockpick.  _ Praise the Divines _ , she thought as she pocketed the lockpick. The hard part was nearly over, and that was enough to grant her a second wind. Lesia moved effortlessly past a drunk and dozing vagrant, followed another scratching down a dark hall that opened to an impromptu executioner's block, down a narrow stairwell and past a sleeping Imperial, slumped on the table. There was only one way to go, and given the diamond above the threshold, it was exactly where she needed to go.

Lesia wasn't sure what she was expecting, following a stranger's advice and even stranger symbols. A bar in a sewer, however, was pretty far down the list. She kept a straight face and eyed the sign.  _ The Ragged Flagon _ , she thought.  _ A fitting enough name. This place has certainly seen better days _ . The old Imperial in worn leathers, however, still looked ready to take on anyone. Lesia nodded once to him as she passed.

"Hold on there," he said. His voice was rough like untempered iron. "Ain't seen you before."

"Because I've never been here," Lesia replied. On instinct she passed him the parchment Brynjolf gave her. "Brynjolf assured me you and yours wouldn't give me any trouble." The Imperial's face softened from a glower to only a faint scowl.

"Another new footpad, I see.." he mumbled.

"On the contrary," Lesia said, "I'm here looking for someone. As we have a mutual friend, maybe you can.." She trailed off when a familiar face caught her sight. He was sitting at the bar, his back hunched over and his arm over his face, but there was no mistaking the voice as he asked for another ale.

_ Gissur. _

"Damn it."

"What was that?" the Imperial asked. Lesia snapped back to him.

"Warrens. Where are they?" she asked sharply. Her tone made it clear that there wasn't going to be an argument.

"Quickest way is through the Flagon, past that old oaken door. What--"

"Thanks." Lesia left the bouncer and his half-heard threats to the air as she cut through a Redguard and a Breton, stopping at the entryway to the Warrens. She glanced at the bar. Gissur was gone, shambling past the bouncer and out from where she came.

To the Thalmor. She didn't have time to lose. Lesia pushed through the oaken door and into the Warrens--

Where her worst case scenario was waiting, leaning against a wall as an Altmer in dark armor talked to him. Lesia's breath left her. She pushed herself against the dark entryway, her ears straining for anything. She could scarcely hear over the pounding of her heart.

"He's here, Aurilon. Between the.. missing asset and our informant, we're positive of it."

"Then get to searching, damn it all! I'll not spend another wretched moment in a sewer!" the Thalmor mage spat. The Elf in armor saluted sharply and left to continue her search. The mage turned and began to meander from his spot, towards the exit.  _ Towards me _ . Lesia took in a deep breath, readied her sword, and when the Thalmor drew near enough, dealt the first strike. It was quick, clean, and silent-- until the Thalmor groaned and fell to his knees, then facedown on the stone floor

"Aurilon?" an Elven man called out. Lesia recognized the voice as the footsoldier. His shadow appeared against the far wall, growing nearer. "Where'd you go?"

"Damn it all!" Lesia hissed. She stepped over the dead Thalmor and ran on her toes, tucked herself into the shadow of a cranny. The footsoldier passed her by without so much of a glance. Unaware, he walked on to the crumpled Thalmor mage.

"Aurilon? Now's not the time for.. Oh. Oh, stars.." he stepped back when he realized the Elf was dead. "Sylana, Cyrelin!" he called out.  _ Two more here, then, _ Lesia thought. "Get over here!" There was another soldier by the panicked Altmer in a moment; the second took her time reaching him. Lesia slipped away while she still had the chance, and only breathed when she was down the snaking hall. She was lucky. That wouldn't last.

Lesia ran the rest of the way, glancing through each barred door and hovel. The few that were occupied held men in squalor, all young or middle aged, a few dead and had been for a while. Not one of them matched Esbern's description. She fell into an all out sprint when she smelled magicka and caught the stark shadows of a Candlelight spell. A woman's voice called out to halt when Lesia found a sturdy dark oak door. It would have to do.

The Warrens were as dark as a moonless night. Her leg throbbed where the skeever bit her. The bread and the apple now threatened to roil back up. She still hadn't the slightest clue where Esbern was in this maze. Lesia leaned against the heavy oak and allowed a precious moment to catch her breath and compose herself. She thought of her father, and the first time he took her hunting, and how she threw her bow down in frustration after they spent the hours without so much as a hare.

_ Hunting is no different than finding a lost sock, or a favorite toy, _ her father said then. Lesia whispered the rest to herself, "Knowing where something isn't can be just as valuable as knowing where it is." Esbern wasn't anywhere behind her. Therefore, he must be further along.

Lesia didn't waste another second. She felt her way through the halls and down an uneven flight of stairs. There was the sound of a strike stone to her right. A faint orange glow followed. She thumbed the pommel of her sword, stepped away from the source. Just as she did so, a man in rags emerged. He was disheveled, in rags, holding a candle by the wax. He stared emptily at her, then looked down at the flame.

"Are you Esbern?" asked Lesia. The man said nothing for a long time.

"Like the lake.." he finally answered. "When the magefire rained down.." In the faint light Lesia could make out his face. He was old, but closer to her father's age than Esbern's, and the unmistakable mar of magefire-burns were on his shoulders.  _ A Great War veteran, _ she realized.  _ Gods give him peace. _

"Excuse me," Lesia said softly. The veteran looked up at her with wide eyes. "I'm looking for a man. His name is Esbern. Would you know where he is?" She watched as the man looked around, his hand guarding the small candleflame. Finally he turned around and stared at the upper level. In the faint light Lesia could just make out the sheen of a heavily fortified steel door; there were more locks on that door than there were in all of Riften. Why would it be in a hovel like this? What was it guarding?

_ Or who? _

Lesia nearly tripped twice finding her way up the uneven stairs. The throbbing in her leg became impossible to ignore, warm blood trickled down her leg, but she rushed all the same to the fortified door. She knocked once, twice, and again.

"Esbern!"

Something dropped behind the door.

"Go away!" an old man cried out. "There's no Esbern here! He's dead-- I killed him!" Lesia could hear the lies in his voice and the ring of a weapon drawn from its sheath.

"Esbern, open up!" she demanded. "We don't have much time--"

"There's no--"

"Delphine sent me!" Lesia blurted. Silence fell in the Ratway, thick and heavy as the morning fog back in Bruma. After an eternity in the fog, a metal slat scraped against the door. An old Nord looked out meekly.

"She's alive?" Esbern asked quietly through the narrow slat. Lesia sighed in relief.

"Yes," she said. "She needs your help to stop the dragon threat. She and I both."

"She keeps up the fight, even now.. You best come inside. Just hold a moment." The door slat closed. The sounds of jingling keys and squealing metal followed. There was a grunt. "Come on, blasted--" There was a dull thud and an "Oof!" from within. Finally the door opened. Lesia walked in before Esbern could say otherwise.

Esbern kept himself busy. On the wall was scraps of paper, complete with scrawls of shorthand and numbers; in the very center was an etching of a familiar dragon, dark as night with claws like scythes. Immediately to the right of the spread was a bookshelf about to collapse from the number of books jammed in, each of which had a bookmark on seemingly every other page. A half-eaten loaf of bread lay neglected on an end table, which only reminded Lesia how long the bread lasted in her stomach. She ignored the growling.

“So Delphine and the Thalmor both have divined where I’ve been hiding, after all these years,” Ebern said, bringing Lesia back to the present. He sighed heavily as he closed the door behind him. The great steel door had locks on both sides, and he was setting to work on resetting them. “Not that it matters now.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. Esbern offered a dry, somewhat sad smile.

“It’s the end. Of everything. Alduin has returned to fulfill his part of the prophecy: to end the world and all who live in it.” He looked to his wall of scraps and scrawls. “Some thirty years late, but here all the same.”

Before Lesia could argue the point there was a terrible crash against the steel door.

“Esbern!” shouted one of the Thalmor agents. “We know you’re in there! Come out quietly!” Esbern chuckled.

“Cornered like rats, we are,” he said. “Now or later, our end is at hand.” Lesia could scarcely believe what she was hearing. She risked her neck and even more breaching the Thalmor Embassy, and Divines knew what kind of danger Delphine put herself into by securing the invitation, all for this: a tired old man ready to give in to death. Lesia was exhausted. She was hungry, and the throbbing in her leg became hot. But by all gods, she  _ was not _ going to die in a sewer. As Esbern opined, Lesia retrieved her one lockpick and set to work. “I’m sorry you-- What are you doing?!”

“Getting us out of here.” Lesia was on the fifth lock. It was expensive, the kind that automatically locked after a few seconds. She knew the trick to it, a small pin to press just as the pick found the final pinion.. There. It yielded, and would stay put until manually locked. She took a deep breath, pushed open the door..

_ “Fus..” _

The three Thalmor had weapons and magicka raised. In the quiet instant between Words, the tallest began to shout, “Kill--”

**_“Ro Dah!”_ **

Unrelenting Force knocked the Thalmor off their feet, off the ledge and down into the lower level of the Warrens. Lesia heard a sickening  _ crunch _ of a bad fall, then dead silence. Finally she let herself breathe.

“Shall we?” she said to Esbern. When she turned his way she saw a different man. The weariness lifted, his wrinkles seemed less pronounced, his jaw was slacked and there was a light in his eyes. It reminded her of the urchin in Whiterun Lesia gave a sweetroll to.

“You’re..” Esbern trailed off, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it, that wishing it so would make her vanish.

“Dragonborn,” Lesia finished. “Yes. Now, if you don’t mind, we should get moving.”

Esbern had no objections. As he collected his things, Lesia leaned against the rough stone wall. Shouting normally didn’t make her so lightheaded, but it had been a stressful day. She allowed herself to lean on Esbern as they followed the sewer steam, out into the cool night air.


End file.
